


In Your Dreams

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, PWP, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-27
Updated: 2008-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel, chained to the bed. Pleasant dreams...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Dreams

The clink of steel on steel and the cold of iron encircling his wrists brought back some memories Angel would rather have avoided. Had he not trusted these two, he might be panicking now. Cordelia's voice, often an irritant, was helping this time.  
"My glamorous LA life," she joked as she secured the last of the chains. "I get to make the coffee and chain the boss to the bed." She smiled radiantly up at Angel. "Gotta join a union," she sighed, tugging on the chain one last time.

Angel flinched. "Cordelia, I think that's tight enough."

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "And if it turns out we're back on a liquid lunch..." She shrugged at Wesley, "Better safe than cocktails, right?"

Wesley nodded seriously. "All we can do now is wait," he said unnecessarily.

Cordelia stood up, glancing toward the exit. "No offence, Angel. Maybe you are just committing these terrible crimes in your sleep but even so...I don't want to stick around for your nocturnal commissions."

Did she even know what a breath of fresh air she was? "I understand," Angel said.

Cordelia nodded. "Okay. Well, pleasant..." she caught herself and backed up. "Sleep tight."

"That's pretty much a given," Angel answered dryly. As Cordelia turned to go, he pulled at the chains holding him experimentally. They were strong enough to hold him...he hoped. He looked up into Wesley's grave eyes. The man had come equipped with stakes and holy water, and he was a man who didn't remotely trust Angel. Angel was making himself horribly vulnerable. Yet Wesley's distrust of Angel was exactly why Angel trusted _him_: if it came down to it, Wesley would not hesitate to do what needed to be done.

There was no real need to say more. Wesley took a seat and made himself comfortable. Eventually, Angel slept.

*

...And dreamed.

"No offence, Angel," Cordelia smiled, "but I don't want to stick around for your nocturnal commissions."

"I understand," Angel said.

"Well, pleasant dreams," Cordelia tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the exit.

Angel watched her go, then looked up to see Doyle standing over him with a wickedly speculative look in his eyes.

Angel said, "You're dead."

"Well, that's not a nice thing to say. Anyway, that makes two of us, doesn't it?" Doyle spread his hands, looking at his own flesh. "I don't feel dead. And this..." he added with a pointed glance at the chains holding Angel in position, "is just too good an opportunity to pass up."

Doyle walked over to the exit and locked the door. He returned to stand at the foot of the iron framed bed. "I do enjoy the dark and mysterious hero look," he commented. "But, Angel, man, you look gorgeous in chains."

"Doyle...don't."

Doyle walked slowly around the bed and sat on the mattress beside Angel. Angel was testing the strength of the chains, seriously. Doyle shook his head. "Ah, don't worry, man. You're not getting out of this one 'till dawn." He rested his hand on Angel's chest, just above his heart. "I know what you're afraid of, Angel. But you've gotta trust me." He began to unbutton Angel's black shirt, slowly, one button at a time.

Angel made no protest, but inside he was tense. Potentially, this was more frightening than the thought he might have been killing people in his sleep. But the light touch of Doyle's fingers was too pleasant, too reassuring. Angel allowed himself to be lulled.

The shirt peeled back to reveal pale skin. Doyle ran a hand across Angel's white chest. His touch was fire and ice at once: Angel's flesh remembered every place he had touched.

"Trust me, man." Doyle's hand rested over Angel's heart again. Angel could feel his pulse resonating through his fingertips.

"I trust you."

Doyle leaned over, the pressure of his hand on Angel's skin increasing, and kissed him full on the lips. The warmth of Doyle's body was so close, his lips hot on Angel's. Angel resisted for a token second, then felt Doyle's tongue push between his lips and yielded with a moan of long suppressed desire. In the battle between lust and fear, trust made the difference.

"I trust you," Angel said again when their lips parted.

"I know," Doyle told him with a smile. "And I plan to take shameless advantage of the fact." Doyle climbed up on the bed, straddling Angel's prone body at the waist. He ran both hands over Angel's chest, circling his nipples with his thumbs. "Do you know how long I've wanted to touch you?" he asked, his voice low. He pinched the flesh of a nipple. The sensation was a lightning bolt through Angel's body and he arched involuntarily into the touch. Obviously pleased, Doyle repeated the motion and Angel writhed beneath his touch again.

"Well," Doyle said with a grin, "there's at least a part of you that isn't dead." He slid back until he was straddling Angel's groin. If Angel had thought there was heat between their bodies before it was nothing to this: the weight of Doyle's body pressing down on his straining erection. Angel closed his eyes, trying to abandon himself to the sensations. Heat...fire...fear. But he _did_ trust Doyle.

Then the weight of Doyle's body was withdrawn. Angel's eyes flew open – surely Doyle wasn't going to stop there? No: Doyle was stripping off his shirt. Angel watched, transfixed as the man's body was revealed, a little at a time. Objectively, he supposed, Doyle wasn't likely to win any beauty contests. But there was nothing objective about Angel's eyes. He was looking at a man he had come to love, and the outward form was the last thing that mattered. It was trust Doyle was displaying: the openness and vulnerability of his naked body revealed to a vampire who was dangerous, even when chained. Angel saw the evidence of Doyle's desire for him and couldn't possibly look away.

"Do I pass?" Nervousness made Doyle's Irish accent more pronounced.

"Yes." More words came to mind: beauty, desire, knowing, love, trust...but Angel spoke none of them. "I want to touch you," he said instead, pleading.

Doyle's fingers touched his lips. "Well, that would defeat the whole purpose of the chains, wouldn't it?"

"Doyle..." The words were cut off by a kiss. Now they were flesh to flesh. Angel could feel Doyle's heart, beating wildly against his ribs. Exquisite. Their lips parted but Doyle was still kissing him, his lips moving along Angel's jaw to his neck. His tongue traced the prominent tendon and suddenly he laughed against Angel's skin. Angel wondered what he found funny, and the next moment he had an answer: Doyle's teeth gently biting the skin of the vampire's neck.

"I wouldn't," Angel warned.

"I wasn't planning to," Doyle assured him. His kisses moved lower still, teasing every inch of exposed flesh, eventually coming to rest just above the waistband of Angel's trousers. He looked up into the vampire's eyes. "We can stop right here if..."

"No...it's yours. Take what you need."

Doyle's eyes widened, as if he had expected Angel to refuse. "Thanks, man." He began to open Angel's trousers. The zipper opened with a rasp and Doyle fumbled with the heavy belt buckle. Angel's position – chained spread-eagled on the bed – made it impossible for Doyle to remove the trousers, but he did manage to uncover the important parts. Resting his head on Angel's stomach he contemplated the feast before him.

Angel's cock rose, proud and rampant from its nest of thick, black hair. Doyle reached out a finger to touch and Angel groaned. The light touch was too much torment. "I said take me, not torture me!"

Angel was pulling on the chains that bound him, not because he wanted to end this, but because he was desperate to participate. In two hundred years he had done pretty much everything, sexually. But always before he'd been the one in control. This was...new.

Doyle's breath was warm on Angel's cock. "You think I'm plannin' to take you?" he asked softly. He raised himself up and took Angel into his mouth.

Angel gasped, involuntarily thrusting into the engulfing heat. No part of Angel remembered now that this was only a dream, and that his lover was dead. Yet the ever-present fear was eclipsed by lust and need too-long denied. Doyle somehow took all of Angel into his mouth, held him there for a moment then drew back, slowly, creating an exquisite suction as he did so. Angel began to rock his hips, thrusting into that hot, eager cavern.

Which was gone, suddenly.

"Not so fast," Doyle chided, amused. Then he moved to straddle the vampire's body again, and impaled himself on Angel's rampant cock.

The tight, searing heat engulfing him dragged a cry from Angel's throat. The chains no longer mattered. His entire being was focussed on the point where their bodies met and merged. He gazed up into his lover's face, revelling in the ecstasy he saw there. Doyle leaned forward, still holding Angel inside his body, raising and lowering himself on Angel's hard flesh as their eyes locked, faces mere inches apart.

Doyle's hand slid between their joined bodies, grasping his own erection, working the flesh. Angel couldn't bear to look, yet couldn't look away. The building sensations were too much.

_Trust me..._

Doyle's muscles constricted around Angel's cock as Doyle climaxed with a cry. His seed splashed Angel's stomach and chest. For a few moments, Doyle was still, his head hanging down as he recovered. He looked up into Angel's eyes, brushing sweat out of his eyes. He lifted a hand, gathering some of his own semen onto his fingers and brought it to Angel's lips. The taste exploded on Angel's tongue, tipping him over the edge. He thrust into Doyle with strength and shouted aloud, letting go, finally, of control. The climax was huge, white light obliterating sight, an incredible release that seemed to go on forever and forever and forever.

As sight returned, he found himself looking into his lover's face. Doyle was smiling gently. "Still with me, lover?"

"Seems like it," Angel said.

Doyle lay down beside him, curling against Angel's side. "Thanks, man," he said quietly.

_But I'm not a man..._

*

Angel woke with a start. "Doyle?" he called. He tried to get up and found he was still chained.

"Angel." It was a man's voice, but not the one he wanted to hear. Angel looked down to the foot of the bed. Wesley still sat there, a stake in his hand. "Angel, it's morning. I think we made it."

"That's good news," Angel said. It had been a dream. No...a fantasy. It had never happened, never _could_ have happened. Angel sighed, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the damp patch on his trousers...and that Wesley had witnessed his dreaming.

But if the ex-Watcher knew what Angel had dreamed he gave no sign of it. He merely bent and began to unlock the chains.


End file.
